


Rose-tinted Flasks

by TK_DuVeraun



Series: Fi’laëwel Lavellan [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 18:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14219511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TK_DuVeraun/pseuds/TK_DuVeraun
Summary: Snapshots of Fi’laëwel and the rest of the Trashquisition.





	Rose-tinted Flasks

**Author's Note:**

> Below are links to the respective creators of each of the OCs!
> 
> Fi’laëwel- [Vilemie](https://vilemie.tumblr.com/)  
> Atheleen/Daeron - [Quizzikemen](http://quizzikemen.tumblr.com/)  
> Xalynir - [Ephemereon](http://ephemereon.tumblr.com/)  
> Silver - [Hinatanara](http://hinatanara.tumblr.com/)  
> So'rem - [Bogatyris](http://bogatyris.tumblr.com/)
> 
> They're all fantastic creators and great people! Please check them out and support their works.

Skyhold was deep in the mountains. The fortress was protected as much by the terrain as it was by its own walls and fortifications. In the days following the Inquisition’s establishment in the castle, Fi’laëwel heard countless shems complaining about how difficult it was to find and get to. This just further solidified her knowledge that shems were idiots. Every turn in the path, every valley to travel through, every cliff to skirt, it all felt natural. Skyhold was at the end of the most intuitive path through the mountains.

Fi stalked through the center of pilgrims and traders and swords for hire that streamed through Skyhold’s gates. As she approached the guards, she lowered her hood and dropped her gaze to the ground. The guard nearly lost his hand when he touched her shoulder, but Fi was allowed in without a single question or second glance. Fi would remember his face and pay him back later.

As she passed through the courtyard and up the stairs, Fi scanned everyone and everything she could see, cataloging all of the information to examine later. She nearly tripped at the top of the stairs when she caught sight of long, silver-white hair. The owner turned her head: Atheleen.

Atheleen!

Fi ripped her gaze away from her old friend and used her desire to see Athe again to increase her pace through Skyhold. She dodged Orlesian nobles and servants with trays of foods and workmen with timber thrown over their shoulders. After a quick exploration of the main level, Fi found an important-looking desk with a pretty human in a silly yellow dress sitting behind it. Next to her was a dopey-looking human with a soft face and softer expression. Neither of them noticed her until she stood directly in front of the desk.

While they blinked and struggled for words that weren’t necessary, Fi dug behind her leather chestpiece and pulled out her notes on red lyrium. She dropped the pages on the desk with a quiet  _ swoosh _ of paper. She put her hands on her hips. “Well?”

The man hesitantly picked up the top page and wasted a lot of time staring at her instead of reading. Fi sighed and rolled her eyes, which made her catch sight of two of her worms that had been wriggling between the pages. She snatched them up and stuffed them back under her armor, ignoring the pretty woman’s startled gasp.

“This is… This is all about red lyrium?” The man asked.

The answer was obvious. Fi shouldn’t have needed to say anything, but both of the shems just kept staring, so she sighed again. “Yes.”

“Can I… Keep these?”

That had been Fi’s intent. She wouldn’t forget anything in the notes. But this shem was so concerned with unnecessary things. “I want them back.”

“Right. We’ll make a copy.” He kept staring at her, though at least there was some intelligence in his eyes, as if he had finally figured out why she was there. “Well, uh, thank you. And you’re welcome to stay here in Skyhold in the interim. Just see the quartermaster.”

Fi tossed her hands in the air before spinning on her heel and stalking away. She took a straight path back to the outer courtyard where she’d seen Atheleen, ignoring the poncy noble she knocked over and the wide, dwarven table she’d jumped over to do it. She hopped off the side of the tall staircase and rolled to her feet before jogging up to Atheleen and tackling her in a hug. Atheleen was too bony and her armor was too sharp, but Fi held her tightly regardless.

“Wha-What? Who- Fi! Fi! You’re here! You’re alive!” Atheleen said. She held Fi back just as tightly for a moment before quickly glancing around. “Daeron! Daeron! Come here! Fi’s back!”

Fi didn’t loosen her hold or move her face from Athe’s shoulder until she was hugged from behind and bodily pulled away. She shouted, “Oy! Put me down!”

“You’re alive! You’re here!” Daeron all but screamed in her ear.

Fi threw back her elbow, trying to break Daeron’s nose and his grip on her. “Put me down! I’m not the one that got trampled in the alienage and lost Athe’s bracelet!”

“Fi,” Daeron said in response, drawing out the vowel for far too long before sloppily kissing her cheek.

Fi aimed another shot with her elbow, but Daeron finally put her down. She straightened her armor and turned around to face both of them. “What are  _ you _ doing here?”

\---

Fi learned very quickly that the best place in Skyhold was the rookery. It was at the top of enough twisting, winding stairs that very few people came up to bother her. Fi was also able to settle in far enough away from the library that she didn’t have to listen to the mustache man talk about how great he was all day. The ravens were smarter than most of the people in the Inquisition. 

She sat cross-legged on the wooden floor and laid out her silk ribbons and shiny buttons. Ever since she’d arrived in Skyhold, Daeron had been presenting her with ever-more elaborate and frilly Orlesian gowns. Most of them would have been tents if Fi had tried them on, so she knew he wasn’t still trying to dress her. Athe said they were a joke, but they weren’t funny; they were a waste of space. Fi had been in the middle of planning how to wrap Daeron in one of the gowns and see how he liked it when she realized the messenger ravens were more than happy to trade her worms and interesting bugs for the bits and baubles she spitefully cut from the gowns.

So she sat in the rookery and made deals with ravens. Nightingale watched her sometimes and took notes on which baubles and ribbons the ravens preferred. Fi liked her. She didn’t ask unnecessary questions and didn’t flinch when Fi’s red lyrium bottles came into sight. Without question, the rookery was the best place, but night fell and it got cold, Fi took her bugs and worms down to the stables. The stables held the best shem Fi had ever met. 

His hugs were warm and soft and had nice earthy smells. None of that shem nonsense of perfumes and shaving creams. He also never expected her to talk when she didn’t want to and only asked her questions about if he was getting the shape right on griffon feathers or if the angle of the bow he was shaping was too sharp. But the best part of him was that he built her a crate with different sections for her worms.

He even tossed the wood shavings from his carvings inside to help feed them when she was out in her hidden cave with her red lyrium jar.

So when Fi spent the night in Skyhold instead of camping, she set up her bedroll in an empty stall. After Athe found her sleeping there, she and Daeron teamed up against Fi and tried to convince her to use their nice, cozy tent. Fi held her ground and eventually they reached a compromise. A big, fancy sign was posted onto the stall door, stating that it was for the exclusive use of the Inquisitor, who, they assured her, would never think to use it.

Once the sign was nailed in place, Fi had Blackbear, that was close enough to his name, wasn’t it? She had Blackbear move her box of bugs and worms inside for safe keeping. At the end of it, Fi thought her horse stall was much nicer than a flimsy canvas tent surrounded by other canvas tents full of people talking and singing and engaging, far too loudly, in coitus. When they’d first been traveling, so many years ago, Daeron told her that after a certain point, the louder the coitus, the faker the emotions being shouted. She had no reason to doubt him.

But even if it was much nicer than Daeron and Athe’s tent, Fi didn’t use it much. She knew people would complain if they knew where she got her red lyrium they would complain and worry and do unnecessary things. It was only field mice and rats and the occasional small nug. Anything bigger wouldn’t fit in the jar and if she got a larger jar, the chunks would be too big for her bottles. She knew what she was doing. The last thing she needed was oversight from some shem calling himself the Inquisitor and claiming to be chosen by his god.

Fi’s father had been the Keeper. She knew the stories, even if she never felt the need to recite them on command. Nothing good ever came for those  _ chosen _ by the gods. It wasn’t just Fen’harel’s eyes that brought trouble.

\---

The Exalted Plains were abhorrent. Everything from the name, to the inhabitants to the creatures. Awful. Fi hated all of it. She rode pillion behind Athe and pressed her sunburned face into the other woman’s armor. Awful. Hot, sandy, empty, full of nasty shems and their blood magic and not even any worms or interesting bugs.

“We can go back, if you want? Xalynir won’t be upset,” Athe said. Her voice vibrated in her chest and through her armor into Fi’s painful and itchy face.

Fi gave her only a grumble and hard squeeze around the waist in response.

“Really, he’s a nice guy. Doesn’t even mind when Varric calls him Beefcake.”

“I made a deal with Nightingale,” Fi said before Athe decided to turn around on her own. Fi didn’t want to be in this shem-created hellscape, but she  _ did _ want the clever, trained raven that that the spymaster was giving her in exchange for her help at the desert fortress.

Athe nodded, moving her whole back to do it. She then started talking about Nightingale and her accomplishments and a lot of others things Fi didn’t care about, so she stopped listening. She let go of Athe’s waist for a moment to move the other woman’s braid to partially shield her poor head from the sun. Fi grabbed back onto Athe’s waist and then turned her head, pressing her cheek into the warm leather armor. In her new position, she could see the horse walking next to them.

It was So’rem, riding a horse as white as his stupid hair. He hadn’t recognized Fi at first, but she knew him immediately. She would never forget the other unwanted child from Clan Lavellan. He didn’t make Fi talk, either. Mostly they would exchange glances, frown at their shared memories, and then go back to whatever they’d been doing before. They didn’t need words, the two of them.

They would sit silently and pretend to talk if Athe was nearby. For some reason the other woman was  _ determined _ to turn them all into a big, happy family, so she and So’rem silently agreed to pretend just to make her happy. Over on his snow-white mare, So’rem gestured to where the mustache mage was riding ahead of them and complaining at the top of his lungs. So’rem rolled his eyes and then turned to face forward again.

That was good. Simple. Said a lot more than the hours of words other people liked to waste on it. Fi didn’t have enough moisture to talk. The desert was awful. She wanted to go back to Emprise du Lion and kill Orlesians and not have to catch any more mice. They were fast and bit her gloves and tried to eat her worms. Fi made another mumbled complaint and turned her forehead back into Athe’s armor. The raven was going to be worth it, she told herself.

\---

When the assault on Adamant Fortress began, Fi still had flakes of dried elfroot paste on her face. She didn’t care. She was a warrior. They were going to fight a battle. It was ridiculous how many people she he to swat away as they kept trying to clean up her face. Finally, she had to shout, “It’s just going to be covered in blood, leave it!”

At least after her outburst Daeron kept people from bothering her about it. He stayed next to her as they and the other archers followed the siege engines up to the fortress. When the commander with the fluffy, fur pauldrons that were not soft or squishy at all gave the signal, Fi and Daeron expertly launched their arrows through the holes the siege engines punched through the old fortress.

It was kind of boring. Fi couldn’t even tell if her shots were hitting their marks. After twenty minutes of volleys, the commander made them stop so the infantry could advance. Fi shifted her weight from foot to foot. She picked at the paste on her forehead. She checked the tension on her bowstring twice. After checking Daeron’s for flaws, she heaved a loud sigh and slung her weapon over her shoulder. 

“I’m going,” Fi said only a moment before leaping away.

She heard Daeron cry out after her, but ignored him. She could take care of herself. She was a great fighter and she wasn’t going to let these stupid wardens summon demons and destroy her home. Once she breached the walls, Fi snatched a flask off of her belt and tossed it in the air. She spun and kicked it. It exploded against a rage demon in a spray of fire and acid. Beautiful.

Fi grinned and tossed the next flask. She could hear the shattering glass over the screech of metal on metal and cries from the wounded and dying. It was a great sound. She laughed delightedly and kept up a quick rhythm with her flasks. When she was left with only the red lyrium flasks, Fi stopped and frowned. Her breath came in heavy gasps as she considered her next move. The red lyrium would eat through armor of Inquisition and rogue warden forces alike and Fi wasn’t callous enough to risk that, no matter what nasty things the shems said behind her back.

It didn’t take long for Fi to realize that the wardens had a backline  _ full _ of stupid mages trying to summon more demons. She scanned the fortress and caught sight of a tall ledge that would give her a great angle to toss the red lyrium flasks in. After two failures to scale the wall, Fi scanned the Inquisition forces to see who would help her.

At the edge of the fighting, a weedy-looking kossith was struggling to pull his axe out of a pride demon. Fi stalked up to him and kicked the corpse. It loosened the axe, but that just made the kossith fall back onto his ass when the blade came free. Fi tapped her foot impatient while she waited for him to get back on his feet.

“Oh! You! You’re, uh, you’re Daeron’s friend! The one with the red… lyrium.” The kossith said. He paled under his vitaar.

Fi grabbed his wrist and dragged him over to the wall under the ledge she wanted. She pointed up to it, but the kossith just stared at her, shifting his grip on the axe’s shaft. Fi growled and then pointed again, this time saying, “Well? Help me up.”

Instead of setting down his weapon and giving her a hand up, the kossith just turned around the look at the ledge.

With a frustrated shout, she simply climbed up the kossith’s back. Even standing on his shoulders, Fi couldn’t quite reach the ledge. She stretched her arms, but it was just a little too far. Ignoring his pained grunts and mumbled complaints Fi put one foot on his head and the other on a single horn. 

“Aha!” Fi said as she finally grabbed hold of the ledge and leveraged herself up. “Thank you, big horns!”

“My name’s Silver!” The kossith called after her.

But Fi wasn’t listening. She was taking aim. One after the other, she tossed five flasks of red lyrium into the center of the summoning circles. She lifted her chin and grinned down at the scattering warden mages.

**Author's Note:**

> This work was was way, way out of my comfort zone because usually my characters _won't shut up_ but it was really fun to do. Thanks to Vilemie for the trade :D


End file.
